Dead Squad: Shadows
by mandowriter
Summary: Third outing for ex-Republic Commando RC-1133, now known as Taler Galaar. Taler was dead for the second time, a hasty retreat from a bad payoff leaving their erstwhile employer believing them to be space dust. But there is always a back-up plan, and now, in the seedy streets of Nar Shaddaa, plans are made in the shadows of old grudges. History does not stay silent for long...


**Part 1**  
**Docking at Sin City**

_YG-4210 freighter "Trail-breaker"_  
_Hutt space_  
_Nar Shaddaa_  
_Corelian sector_

"Heavy freighter 'Nexu teeth' from Nar Shaddaa traffic control, you have clearance to land at docking bay Tee seven, level twenty four," a voice crackled over the speakers. Taler Galaar looked over to Kyr'am as he sat in the pilot's seat and sighed, shaking his head as he smiled at the fake name they were displaying. Kyr'am grinned back at him as they shared in the joke.

"Roger that, Control. Docking bay Tee seven, level twenty four," Kyr'am replied, acknowledging the clearance to land and watching the course appear on the screen beside him.

"Nexu teeth? Really?" Taler asked, turning to look at the man who only a month ago had saved his life.

"What?" Kyr'am replied with a smirk. "You don't like the name?"

"I may have one or two issues with it," Taler replied, lifting his right arm and holding up the specific number of fingers towards him. Kyr'am laughed.

It had been over a month now since the events on Geonosis, and Taler was slowly getting used to everything that had happened to him in that time. He hadn't forgotten anything, a curse of being bred with an eidetic memory meant that he remembered everything that had ever happened in his artificially shortened life. He was a clone soldier, bred as part of the grand army of the republic, his life deemed expendable in the service of a universe in which he had no stake.

On Geonosis, he had watched his squad brothers die, and then he had been left for dead without even a search. The loss of his squad was still a painfully fresh memory, and though he would never admit it, he had woken up many times during the night in a cold sweat, his heart hammering in his chest, and the screams of his brothers ringing in his ears in the terrifying realms between dreams and reality.

His world had been turned upside down. And in the darkness of the Geonosian desert, where he had almost succumbed to the cold embrace of death, a bounty hunter had found him and taken him under his wing, even going as far as to adopt him as his own son. But it seemed that the bug-infested planet was not quite ready for him to leave, and as a final parting gift, a Nexu had bitten off the lower half of his right arm.

The cybernetic replacement that had been grafted to his arm was hidden beneath a layer or synthetic flesh to mimic the look of real skin. It was thinner than it had been to begin with, the life of a bounty hunter made maintaining it a little more difficult than normal. Stray blaster bolts, flames from exploding grenades, and shrapnel from disintegrating security droids all left their mark. The metallic digits beneath the thin pale skin were starting to show through, and the synthetic skin was becoming more difficult to find the further towards the rim they travelled.

He huffed out a sharp breath as he cast a final look over his hand, and he moved it back towards the navigational controls, checking their distance to the landing zone. They were almost there, and as he felt the thrusters begin to drop in pitch, their speed slowing for final approach, he turned to look out through the forward view screen. The darkness of night was shattered by the neon glow of the city beyond.

All around them, spires of shimmering colour speared the inky blackness, shafts of light lancing the night with riotous hues that danced and flickered, enticing incoming ships and their passengers to enjoy the wonders and services of this sprawling metropolis. Speeders raced along the crowded skylanes, pinpricks of light zooming across the blinding haze, darting between the sky towers as minute figures shifted around within their transparisteel walls. Taler had read all the information that was available on Nar Shaddaa, and he knew to expect any number of lowlife criminals, from street thieves and con artists, to black marketers and smugglers. But they were not alone, with gangs controlling much of the larger crime syndicates that ruled this part of the outer rim, many, if not all, answering directly to the Hutts themselves. And on top of everything, there lingered an unhealthy obsession with gambling and a variety of vices that would make even a Bothan blush through its fur.

Knowing this, he was still not prepared for what was spread out before his eyes. His mouth became slack and his eyes bulged.

An excitable squeal broke the silence that had surrounded Taler as the small yellow astromech droid behind the pilots seat swivelled his head towards the back of Kyr'am's chair. Taler snapped his head back to look and saw an ominous red flickering light on the control panel. The droid became instantly agitated, rocking from side to side angrily as sparks erupted from its leg joint.

"Calm down, Sparky, you little rust bucket," Kyr'am barked. He looked back over his shoulder at the status board and slapped it hard with his hand. The screen flickered and the red light changed back to green. "I swear you've got a screw loose. It's sorted, okay?"  
Sparky replied with a non-too polite sound that expressed its annoyance perfectly.

"And you can check that attitude as well. There's a lot of Jawa's here always looking for spare parts!" The droid fell silent.  
A gentle chiming sound sang from the navigation controls, and as Taler turned to look, he saw they were only meters from the docking port. Kyr'am pulled the thrusters right the way back, and pulled the nose up hard, reducing their speed almost instantly.

"Extending landing struts," Kyr'am said calmly, effortlessly controlling the ship into its docking port. The ship dropped the last few meters, the landing struts coming to rest on the landing pad, and the hydraulics hissing as the engines began to shut down and the weight of the ship pressed down on the three legs.

"Shutting her down," Taler said, reaching over his head and flicking a series of switches, powering down the main drive engines, and unlocking the main access ramp from the aft cargo bay. A clicking sound ticked through the hull as the metal around the drives began to cool.

Kyr'am leaned back in his chair and stared out of the viewport, and he sighed.

"You ok, Buir?" Taler asked. Kyr'am turned towards him and smiled warmly, the Mandalorian word for father always seemed to make him smile, and Taler always wanted to make him proud.

"I'm ok, Tal'ika," he replied, using the affectionate variant of his name, little Taler. "Just didn't think I'd be back here anytime soon. Left here in quite a hurry last time."

"Anything I should know about?" Taler asked.

"Ancient history, son," Kyr'am replied with a wink. With a final look out of the view screen, Kyr'am rose from his seat and headed out towards the back of the cockpit, disappearing through the doors and the sounds of his footfalls growing quieter as he walked down the corridor. The eccentric droid swivelled around and followed him out of the bridge, leaving Taler alone.

He began unfastening his restrains when something out of the corner of his eyes seemed to draw his attention. Years of training in battle simulations had sharpened his senses, and he knew something was wrong almost instantly. Turning towards the view screen, his eyes snapped towards a balcony five levels above the landing pad. Crowds of people moved back and forth along the raised walkways, but through the thronging masses, hidden in the shadows, he thought he could see a figure. He could feel them staring back at him, scrutinising him and the ship, taking in every aspect of its hull. He squinted towards it, but as he blinked, it seemed to vanish.

He turned his eyes away from it, climbing out of his chair and heading towards the rear of the cockpit. As he reached the door, he looked back over his shoulder one more time up at the constantly moving mass of civilians. He could still feel the watchful gaze of their unseen observer on the back of his neck.

Something didn't feel right.

...

The door to Kyr'am's cabin hissed open as he tapped the control panel mounted into the bulkhead. It disappeared into the hollow recess between the thin layers of metal that formed the inner structure of the ship, and revealed the plain cabin beyond. A simple bunk was tucked away against the left wall, and a seat rested in front of a workstation on the right. Simple dark sheets were draped tidily over the bunk, and a single data pad rested on the workstation.

Stepping inside, the door closed behind him. He crossed the room towards the workstation, reaching down towards the data pad as it lay idle on the flat metal surface. His fingers almost touched the screen when he caught sight of his reflection in the mirrored screen. His hand stopped and he stared down at himself.

His black hair was filling up with strands of grey, the edges of his beard tinting with silver with each passing week. He looked older than he felt, but being only fifty three meant he was barely into mid-life. The past few months leading up to Geonosis had been harder than he would admit. Kyr'am Galaar, Mandalorian bounty hunter and now father to an unlikely son, was getting older. The scar on his cheek was more visible today than it had been for a while, a thin white line running from the middle of his left cheek, and disappearing into his beard, a souvenir from a slightly disgruntled Mon Cal bounty he had tracked across three sectors before finally capturing them on an orbiting fuelling post near the Rishi maze.

The data pad flared into life as he tapped the screen, his reflection fading away into the riotous glow of colour. Leaning over the worktop, he opened up a command screen and tapped the last button, slicing into the ships communications system and activating an outside link. The data pad beeped multiple time as it scrambled the signal, and finally a computerised voice chimed from the concealed speakers.

"Please state desired contact," it said pleasantly, but with no warmth.

"Relnar Tre'm, Traders guild," Kyr'am said clearly.

"Connecting," the voice said happily. The speakers crackled lightly as the signal was rerouted, and then the holo-emmiter beside the data pad flared into life, the figure of the sleazy Neimoidian hovering a few inches from the table top. The figure looked up and Kyr'am was sure that for a moment he could see the bulbous eyes widen in shock, though he quickly composed himself and hid his alarm.

"Hello, Relnar," Kyr'am said casually, standing up straight.

"Well, this is a surprise," Relnar replied, leaning forwards in his chair and bracing his arms on the table before him. "News across the void is that you're dead." He smiled.

"Don't sound so happy about it," Kyr'am retorted. So their little stunt aboard the "Wrath of Telos" had worked, and it seemed news of their 'death' had spread across the underworld networks. He allowed himself a little smile.

"I am impressed," Relnar said, a hint of genuine praise seeping into his words. "Hydra corp. are not the easiest of people to avoid, let alone, deceive. I'm sure they would feel slightly embarrassed to be taking credit for a death that never happened." Kyr'am did not like the tone of the Neimoidian's voice.

"The situation called for a little improvisation," Kyr'am said evenly. "But I'm sure you don't want to know about the details."

"Maybe," Relnar said dismissively, "But you must know they won't stay ignorant for long."

"What are you saying, Relnar?" Kyr'am asked, a threatening growl creeping into his voice.

"Oh, nothing," the Neimoidian said quickly, holding his hands up in a silent gesture of surrender. "Just that they have contacts everywhere, and no-one can stay hidden forever."

"Well, I just need to stay out of their way long enough for me to do what needs doing," Kyr'am said darkly.

"Indeed," Relnar said, nodding. "So, to business. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" Relnar said, waving his hand in a questioning gesture. Kyr'am knew this was a risk. Neimoidians were a bunch of manipulative, back stabbing, double crossers, who only ever looked out for themselves, and Relnar was one of the worst. But Kyr'am needed his help, and there was no way around it.

"I need a favour," Kyr'am replied, the words feeling like sand in his mouth. Bile began to bubble up in the pit of his stomach as he watched the smile widen across the Neimoidian's face.

"Really?" Relnar hissed with barely concealed glee. "And what might that favour be, bounty hunter?" Nothing brought the credit-counter greater pleasure than the feeling of being superior to another who was in his debt. Kyr'am clenched his fists silently by his side, resisting the urge to reach out and try to crush the shimmering holo.

"You'll find out soon," Kyr'am said sharply. "I want a meeting with you, today." Relnar's face seemed to flicker for a moment, and a hint of concern washed across his otherwise neutral expression. He was a master of deception, it was one of the many underhanded traits the Neimoidians were know to covet.

"You're on Nar Shaddaa?" He stammered.

"Just landed," Kyr'am said with a smile. "Come now, Relnar. Are you losing your touch?" Kyr'am enjoyed the moment as the figure on his desk bristled visibly before composing himself quickly.

"I'm sending you the location of my office," Relnar replied, tapping something unseen on his desk, deciding to ignore the jibe at his lack of information. The data pad flickered beside the holo-emitter and Kyr'am watched as the data popped up on the screen and a map showed the fastest route.

"Received," Kyr'am replied crisply. "I'll see you within the hour. Out." Without waiting for a reply, Kyr'am tapped the data pad and closed the link. The image of the Neimoidian flickered and then vanished as the holo-emitter shut down.

Turning around, Kyr'am reached under the worktop and squeezed the hidden button. A dull thud echoed through the room and he watched as a concealed cupboard beside the bed swung open. He took hold of the door and opened it all the way before reaching inside. A smile crossed his face as his eyes fell upon his armour. Like greeting an old friend, he began to put his armour on.

...

Taler stood in the small, echoing cavern that was the cargo hold, checking each plate and system of his armour, his helmet resting on a convenient crate beside the door. It had taken him a few weeks, but he had finally finished transferring every advanced tactical, strategic and biological monitoring system from his republic commando katarn armour to his new set of Mando plates. The white and red paintwork was only partially scuffed, the kama slightly torn, but the clan symbol on his right shoulder was still pristine.

The armour felt reassuringly heavy across his shoulders, the full chest plate with raised mando style details and overlapping stomach plates more like the armour he had grown accustomed to as a commando. He knew it was no longer his life, but some things didn't change, and in a universe where he was suddenly in charge of his own fate, familiarity was something he found comforting.

As he finished adjusting his armour, the data pad beside his helmet flickering with green lights, he scooped up his brothers dc-15s sidearms. They were the only physical things he had left of his brothers. He had watched them both die on Geonosis. He tipped the handles over and stared down at their names he had carved into the metal. 'Vin' and 'Jay'. A stab of pain rippled through him as he realised that he had nothing of his other squad brother, 'Darman'. He had stayed behind to cover their advance, and had been cut off from them. When the firing had begun, the comms went dead, and Taler never found his body.

The blasters were different now. Both had been heavily modified after his last firefight, an EMP pulse had disabled them and the casing had broken when an explosion had detonated a little too close for comfort. Taler had stripped them down and rebuilt them, making them bigger and bulkier, and increasing their range and accuracy by extending the barrel. He checked them for charge, and slipped them into their holsters. Reaching behind him, he checked that his dc-17m was mounted safely at the base of his back, and finally, he ejected the vibroblade from his left wrist and sheathed it almost instantly, checking the mechanism. He was ready.

An excitable squealing sound echoed from outside the door, and as the panel slid aside, the astromech wheeled itself in, followed a few seconds later by Kyr'am. His dark blue plates were almost hidden beneath his long dark coat that billowed in his wake, and the sniper rifle that he favoured was draped across his shoulder as always. He carried his helmet under his arm.

"Ready, Tal'ika," Kyr'am said warmly. Taler grabbed his helmet and nodded to his adopted father. Kyr'am smiled. "Well then," he said, slipping his own helmet over his head and walking towards the loading ramp. "Let's go meet the locals." He slapped the control panel set into the wall, and with a loud hiss and a deafening roar, the ramp began to lower and the seedy air of Nar Shaddaa enveloped them.


End file.
